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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings #23

DREAMING OF OBLIVION

 

The vase brimming

with day-lilies, the last

 

 

       of the lupine and purple campanella

       cut from our tended garden,

 

 

stands

on the table beside the bed

she cannot rise from.

 

                    

       All there is for her now

                     – enough.

 

 

Though the others keep,

the lilies bloom only

 

 

      for their day and ever so

       silently, gently close                                                       

 

 

like lids folding over

to cover iris and black pupil

and do not reopen.

      

 

      

 

 

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